just one person. One asshole of a person. I shouldn’t be this terrified to see him again.
Movement in the kitchen window catches my eye and my stomach twists once more.
I really just need to get this over with.
He’s probably forgotten all about what happened at Halloween and moved on. He’s certainly got bigger things to worry about right now. There’s no way he’s obsessing about seeing me like I am him. That asshole doesn’t give a shit about anything, especially not me. He made that abundantly clear the very first time we met.
After blowing out a long breath, I grab my purse and duffle then climb from the car.
The house is silent as I walk down the hallway. I don’t drop my bags like I usually would, I want to be ready to make a quick escape should I need to.
“In the kitchen, sweetie,” Mom calls.
I can do this. I can do this, I repeat over and over in my head as I make my way down to them.
My temperature soars, my skin feeling like it doesn’t belong on my body, and as I round the corner, I swear I stop breathing.
That is until I find a room with just Mom and Stephen in it, both of their faces pulled tight with worry.
The air I was holding comes rushing out of me as I look between the two of them.
“What’s going on? Where’s A-Ash?” I stutter, not really wanting to say his name out loud.
Stephen’s shoulders sag before he looks to the floor. Mom races over to him and wraps her arm around his shoulder.
“B-but you said he was okay. Just cuts and bruises,” I whisper, misreading Stephen’s reaction.
“Oh, he is, sweetie. He’s fine. He just—”
“He refused to get on the airplane,” Stephen says, standing and marching to the other side of the kitchen.
Mom and I watch as he reaches into the top cupboard and pulls down a bottle of whiskey, twists the top, and takes a large drink.
My hand clenches with my need to do exactly the same thing.
“So... he’s not moving here?” I ask, hating the hope that fills my voice. I know it’s a pointless question. Ash isn’t eighteen yet and I’m not sure he has any other options aside from Stephen—juvie, maybe.
“Y-yeah, he is. He’s just... making his own way.”
“W-what does that m-mean exactly?” My voice betrays me, cracking the whole way through the question.
“Said he needed some time.” Stephen rests his palms on the counter and hangs his head.
“He’ll be here in a few days, I’m sure,” Mom says soothingly, although I’m not sure it has any effect on Stephen.
I’m right because not two seconds later does he march from the kitchen, the bottle in hand, without saying a word.
“He’s hurting too. He still cared about Leanora,” Mom muses.
I fall down into the chair beside her. “So, what now? We just wait for him to appear?”
“I guess so. Not sure there’s much else we can do.”
“What about the funeral?”
“It’s next Friday. Stephen and Ash have already got things ready for it.”
I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral. I shouldn’t be so relieved that no sooner has he arrived then he’ll be heading back for the funeral. The guy’s just lost his mom, I really should be more concerned about him than I am myself.
“I’m going to fucking ruin you, little one.” His words rip through me like a tsunami and I shudder from head to toe.
No, maybe I’m right to be worried about myself. I’d never wish for anyone to lose a parent. I can’t even imagine how awful it must be. But at the same time, I do believe in karma. It’s all I’ve got to latch on to right now.
“So...” Harley says on a video call later that evening. “How was it?”
“He’s not here,” I admit, flipping over onto my stomach and propping my cell up on my pillow.
“Oh. He’s not coming now?”
“He is. He’s just... taking his time.” I want to say he’s torturing me, but I’m sure he’s not so much as thought of me once since walking out our door that night.
“Oh, well... that could be a good thing, I guess. Give him time to get his head straight.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
A knock sounds out on Harley’s door before she calls, “Come in.”
“Hey, is that Rubes?” another familiar voice says before the camera bounces as Poppy jumps on Harley’s bed.
“Oh look, Zayn let you up for air?” I ask, much to Harley’s disgust.